


Such a Loftier Song

by Cinaed



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 3 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 13:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17550584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: Three girls that Cosette Fauchelevent never fell in love with, in the convent, in another universe, and in a carriage.





	Such a Loftier Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> Transferring a few short fics over from Tumblr. This one was done for esteliel, who asked for five people Cosette never fell in love with. It ended up being three girls rather than five, but I liked how it came out!
> 
> The title comes from Christina Rossetti's [I loved you first](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50507/i-loved-you-first-but-afterwards-your-love) poem. 
> 
> The Anne/Cosette pairing was inspired by my Anne of Green Gables/Les Miserables crossover, in which Cosette, Valjean, Fauchelevent, and Fantine end up in Canada. You can read that [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084930/chapters/2181809) if you want!

Cosette has several friends at the convent.

Perhaps in another place she would have been an outcast, with her ugliness and her slow-to-discard habit of flinching whenever someone speaks too sharply or moves too suddenly near her. But the little girls, in defiance of their grim surroundings, do their best to welcome every newcomer and so Cosette is welcomed into their company.

Cosette’s closest friend, however, is Odette. Odette is graced with golden ringlets, sparkling blue eyes, long lashes that will provide her the look of an ingenue when she is older, and the round, cheerful face of a girl who has not lost her good humor from the convent’s rules.

Cosette feels drab and ugly when they stand side by side, and especially when Odette rests her head upon Cosette’s shoulder and Cosette knows everyone is comparing them, but when she admits as much to Odette, her friend stares at her in astonishment.

“Beauty’s not important,” says Odette, with the confidence of a girl who has always been and always will be beautiful. “And you have the best laugh of all the girls here, if you would only let yourself laugh more.”

Cosette smiles uncertainly, a smile that gives way to surprised laughter as Odette pounces upon her and tickles her mercilessly. The matter is dropped, although not forgotten, for when Cosette uses a slightly altered version of Odette’s speech upon her father, his shy, pleased smile and promise to try and laugh more is an unlooked-for gift.

“I used to do this with my sisters,” Odette confides one particularly cold evening, when the storm is so loud outside that even the stone walls of the convent cannot mask its howling. She and Cosette are huddled together under the thick blanket Cosette’s father and uncle gave her for Christmas. Odette’s chest presses against Cosette’s with every breath, and her arms are wrapped tightly around Cosette’s waist.

Odette’s breath is warm against Cosette’s cheek, her breath sweet from the candy Cosette’s uncle gave Cosette with a wink and a conspiratorial smile earlier that day. Odette’s lips, soft, tickle Cosette’s cheek as she bites back a laugh and says, “Let us pretend to be sisters, Cosette.”

Cosette shivers. She smiles, uncertain, for this warm feeling in her chest doesn’t feel very sisterly, especially when Odette giggles and presses a kiss upon Cosette’s cheek. 

But what does she know of sisters? “Yes,” she says, and turns her head a little awkwardly to kiss Odette back, on the cheek as sisters do. But her lips miss their mark, and instead Cosette kisses Odette’s candy-sweet mouth.

No, she thinks even as Odette laughs against her lips, startled but amused, this strange warmth in her stomach does not feel sisterly at all.

 

* * *

 

 

**II.**

Anne’s face is pale and stricken in a way that Cosette hates. Every freckle, which Cosette has always thought made Anne look charming rather than unattractive, stands out in sharp distinction upon her face.

What is worst of all, however, is the lack of dramatics. If Anne were throwing herself upon her bed and wailing that Diana has been lost to her forever, Cosette would know she was exaggerating. But instead Anne is quiet and subdued, the merry light in her eyes quenched. Her hands are clasped and white-knuckled in her lap.

“I knew it would happen,” Anne says. She stares out the window, but even the sight of Green Gables doesn’t lessen the misery in her face. “I knew I would lose Diana to a boy, but I did not think it would be so  _soon_.”

When Anne’s voice breaks on the last word and her face crumples, Cosette drops onto the bed next to her and throws her arms around Anne. Anne comes willingly enough, resting her head upon Cosette’s shoulder. She still doesn’t cry, as though she is too hurt for tears, but her breath hitches in her chest and she shudders in Cosette’s embrace. 

Cosette strokes Anne’s hair, a rush of tenderness overwhelming her. “It will be all right. Fred is nice, but he’s no replacement for you. You will still be kindred spirits.”

Anne manages a weak laugh at that. “We will always be friends, yes, but— oh, Cosette! It would not be so bad, only now Diana seems intent on playing matchmaker. She cannot understand that Gilbert and I are friends and nothing more, and insists we are meant to be. Wouldn’t a kindred spirit understand that I don’t— that is—” Anne trails off, pressing her hot, wet face against Cosette’s throat.

"She is trying something similar for me,” Cosette admits, earning another watery laugh. She hesitates, still filled with the same tenderness of before. Her stomach twists uneasily for she knows this feeling. It is the same feeling she had when she nursed that foolish infatuation with Ruby Gillis (Ruby Gillis, of all people!) when they were still in school.

It’s a dangerous feeling, but less frightening than the misery in Anne’s face. Perhaps that is why Cosette summons her courage. Smoothing a hand over Anne’s hair once more, she says, very softly, striving to keep her voice light, “Well, dear, perhaps we should get away for a while. Mother will let me go to Paris, she says, but only if I have a suitable companion, and I—”

Her light tone fails her then, for Anne has lifted her head and is staring at her wonderingly, delight beginning to crowd out despair. Swallowing, Cosette smiles and says, “I would like you best of all as my companion. Will you come?”

Anne’s delighted laughter and exclamation of, “Oh, Cosette!  _Paris_! I must tell Matthew and Marilla!” is all the answer Cosette needs.

 

* * *

 

 

**III.**

Father has just helped Cosette into the carriage when it rocks abruptly, as though someone has leaped onto it. When Cosette leans out the window and peers past her father, she sees a girl her age crouched against one of the back wheels, half under the cab. 

“Oh, come away, that is quite dangerous,” Cosette calls. She flinches when the girl, clothed in rags and with the sallow face of someone who has not seen a good meal in months, perhaps years, shoots her a contemptuous look.

It is then that Cosette hears the yell of a policeman for the nearby crowd to make way. The girl’s eyes flash with something that is half-defiance, half-fear, and she scuttles backwards, now mostly under the cab.

“Mademoiselle,” Father says, and his voice is strange, sympathetic and urgent all at once. When Cosette looks at him, his face has gone very pale and his shoulders are hunched, as though he is unnerved by the cries of the officers. “Are you in trouble?”

Cosette looks over the crowd, which is slowly and reluctantly parting for the policemen. She looks again to the girl, whose mouth is set in a defiant snarl as the girl mutters, sullenly, “Not my fault.”

Cosette hesitates, moved by that queer sense of recognition, as though she has seen this girl somewhere before, and the girl’s eyes, which have the panicked look of a trapped animal. Perhaps she should turn the girl over to the police, but the terrible memory of the convicts makes her shudder and recoil from the idea.

She impulsively gestures toward the girl. “Come into the carriage with me and Papa. Quickly! They will not look there.”

“ _Cosette_ ,” Father says, and when she looks at him, her chest hurts, because he looks as though he’s in pain. Then his expression clears, sorrowful but also almost peaceful, similar to the way he looks when they have gone to church. He bends and peers at the girl. When he speaks, his voice is gentle. “We shall get you away and let you off at whatever street you like, my child.”

The girl laughs hoarsely. “Why would you help me? You know me, old man,” she sneers. “You know who—”

The crowd’s parting fast now, as though the officers have started using their canes to clear a path. “Oh, come inside before it is too late!” Cosette cries, and leans past her father, extending her hand.

The girl hesitates, but then one of the officers lets out a particularly loud bellow. She lunges forward and grabs onto Cosette’s hand, clutching at it tightly enough that Cosette winces.

And then they are in the carriage, Father climbing in after them and rapping sharply on the roof and ordering the driver to go. The girl’s tumbled into Cosette’s lap. She is all limbs and pointy knees and elbows, one of the latter hitting Cosette’s side hard enough that she gasps a little.

“Sorry,” the girl mutters, sounding almost like she means it. She scuttles over to the furthest corner, gathering her rags to her and staring at Father and Cosette in irritated bewilderment. She licks her lips, kicks at the floor with restless, bare feet.

“Where shall we take you, my child?” Father asks, and the girl shrugs.

Studying the girl’s too-thin face, the sharp distinction of her collar-bone where her dress hangs loosely, Cosette says slowly, “We were going to eat some early supper, perhaps you might—” She stops at the girl’s harsh laughter.

“I don’t need your pity or your scraps,” the girl hisses. There is red in her cheeks now. For the first time she truly looks dangerous, furious in a way that makes Cosette think of a cat about to claw or a dog about to bite.

“That was not,” Cosette says, floundering. Perhaps she should withdraw the invitation, especially when her father is frowning as though he wants to object, but Cosette is curious. She wants to know why the police were after this girl, why the girl seems to think Father knows her, why every time Cosette looks at her she feels a strange sense of familiarity. She bites her lower lip and says at last, slowly, “I only meant that we have so few visitors, it would be nice to have company. Father is very good company, of course, but— It would be nice.”

The girl studies her, warily, as though trying to find the trick. After a moment, bitter amusement replaces her fury. She leans against the seat, hums a snatch of song under her breath. “Why not?” she says at last, and nods to herself. A strange smile lights her face and for a moment she is almost pretty. “Might as well see what I might’ve had.”

Then she startles them both by laughing and saying, “To the Rue Plumet then!”


End file.
